Deranged
by Slayer Z
Summary: Daniella is supposed to be the perfect woman. Yet how perfect can someone be if they feel jealousy? M for language and brief sexual encounter.
1. The fall

I found her at the intricately designed door my Master had locked a long time ago. The way she stood made me realize she thought herself alone – the dog that I had spied her with earlier was outside, sniffing around. Her shoulders and body were slouched and relaxed. I could not allow her to leave my sight: I wanted to study her further. Silently I made my way beside her just as she was to enter the key into the knob. I placed my hand on hers and felt strange warmth radiating from her skin. Apart from that other man, the clone, no one had ever had their flesh against mine. I pressed myself against her back and smiled at the soft body I felt.

"Dinner is served, miss," I told her quietly. Frightened eyes turned to me and it seemed she had hardly understood. Her lips looked so full and delicious in the moonlight; maybe they would be as soft as her body?

"Dinner is served, miss," I repeated and leaned closer. I could feel her breath spill over my mouth and I grinned wickedly at her. I would not feel her lips just yet – I wanted her to eat first. She looked deathly pale and her hand had gone cold and clammy within my own. Yet I did not wish to let go, so I turned and led her by the hand toward the kitchen. The dog wasn't outside when we left.

Her delicate little fingers began to sweat and she seemed to be resisting my lead. I felt a few tugs in the opposite direction and heard discreet grunts of effort coming from behind me. In response I simply gripped her hand tighter and led on through the night. I imagined it would be quite cold for her, especially with that skirt. Surely those long, slender legs would be freezing by the time we got to the dining room. Those legs that my Master had oftentimes remarked on; those legs that would eventually be spread apart and allow entry into a woman's most sacred area. It was said that down there she could experience so much _pleasure._ My lips curled into a grin as I thought about how it must feel, to have a man inside you - how it must feel to be used in a way other than just house chores.

As I led her through the kitchen I glanced down at myself. The tight clothing hugged my lean frame. It helped to make my chest look bigger and perkier, and it hugged my small waist. The hourglass shape was much sought after when it came to mating, so I heard. My hips were large: I once read that a woman with bigger hips had a safer chance of giving birth. So I had everything a man needed and wanted from a woman. Yet I was still not desired in such a way. My purpose was to clean and cook, nothing more. Riccardo had only touched me to try and hurt me and Lorenzo had only once caressed my cheek a little after I had been made. He had examined me as I stood before him, nude and dripping wet from the tank's liquid. The old man seemed pleased: he would nod approvingly and wheel around me in his wheelchair. Then he told me to make myself some clothes first and then get to cleaning and cooking.

Frequently I would make soup and feed it to those who came to the table. Usually it was only Lorenzo, but occasionally Riccardo would come in and partake of my meals. Once even the large man with black eyes came to the table and ate with the other two. Though he remained quiet, he seemed to enjoy the meal or at least pretended to. He never returned during dinner; I supposed that he enjoyed eating his own cooked meat rather than my less beefy creations. My master would speak with me as I stood beside him as he ate. I guess while I served as a maid, my presence was sometimes considered company. So I grew accustomed to listening to him ramble about a new creation he was working on or how he desperately wanted one of his clones, Ugo, to return to him.

Once he told me of how he needed a real woman. At the time I did not truly think about the matter, for I figured he was simply working on another project. He told me that, "A real woman reacts to pain and pleasure. Oh, how I want to see one writhe in that mixed reaction as I penetrate her womb. I want to hear her utter that long, blissful moan as I taste her." Then he glared at me, his feeble and trembling hand raising up as he spoke in a harsh tone, "I didn't finish you. I don't know why I didn't complete my work on you, you fucking failure!" Then he wheeled around and quickly departed from the room, leaving his supper half eaten. After that day he would only come for dinner on Sundays and eventually he stopped coming altogether and the times he did come he never spoke to me. He would simply pull up to the table, eat his meal and leave without a word. Yet every night I would cook an entire dinner and stand by his vacant chair, staring at the distant wall. I did not think of anything during those times. I was made to clean and cook and I followed my routine religiously, allowing no time to linger on any ideas or words that might've gone into my head.

"Please, let go of my hand," a small voice pleaded behind me. Realizing that this whole time I had been gripping the lady's hand tighter, I released it. She pulled away and began to rub it tenderly, gazing fearfully at me. I turned and opened the door to the dining room, motioning her inside. It seemed to me she was reluctant to go anywhere but she silently obeyed. As she sat I pushed her chair up to the table and stood beside her as I had always done with Lorenzo. My Master had told me to keep a close eye on her and make her feel comfortable. If this had made Master speak, then perhaps the young lady would become chatty as I stood by.

I looked down as she took her spoon and sipped lightly at the steaming broth. The Miss was uneager to eat, I could see, but after a glance at me, she put the spoon into her mouth and sucked the food off. I smiled and waited for her reaction. As she caught my eye she offered a weak smile before focusing completely on her food. Perhaps women did not taste as good as my Master had told me. During her time asleep I had taken clips of her hair and put them into my stew to see whether or not the young lady would enjoy eating herself. I would need to try it myself.

The young Miss remained silent so I attempted to fulfill that role of company by starting the conversation. The words that came from my mouth were the thoughts that ran through my head, as I figured perhaps a real woman would understand. "My creator said he made me the perfect woman," I said, turning to look at her. She gazed up at me with a confused and wary look, going back to stir her soup. "But I cannot taste or experience pleasure, or feel pain." She said nothing in response and a moment later, thanked me for the food and left. When I was sure she was gone, I made my way to the other side of the chair, for if I were to taste the food on my usual side I would feel strange, as if I were breaking my duties. My eyes glinted as I took the handle of the spoon and lifted the steaming broth up to my lips. Just a taste was all I needed to be sure. I parted my lips and pressed my tongue to the liquid after making sure the spoon held some of the Miss' essence. I tasted nothing; all I felt was the warm, wet broth against my tongue. There was no sensational flavor and no repulse of anything that might've tasted disgusting. At once I realized what Lorenzo had meant when he said his work had not been finished.

The young lady had something I didn't. She could taste this food, she could keep the broth and swirl it in her mouth as she pleased, allowing its warm and disgusting flavor to wash against her tongue again and again. She would be allowed to feel the painful pleasure of penetration as my Master did what he wanted to her body, as he planted the seeds of his youth into her. It would give him his immortality and restore his youth completely. Then more would be born with Azoth and he could continue on using those who were born once Fiona became too old or dried of Azoth. But was it only because she the ability to bear children and the Azoth? My Master had grown distant from me and while I had completed my duties I felt rather obsolete. The Miss, a flesh woman made by a random code of genes, was more desired than a perfected woman built by man for man? As I realized the truth I spoke it aloud to assure myself something was missing… something I would have to attain from her.

"I am not complete."


	2. Heart of Glass

It was a quiet rest. She didn't snore at all nor did she move about during her sleep. Her radiant skin was washed in the light from the lamp nearby; it was an angelic sight truly. I watched for a moment. This perfect angel was wanted by every man and envied by the women, I could imagine it already. Raised by rich and loving parents she wouldn't have a care in the world, so preoccupied on herself and her image. She deserves to be punished.

I guided my scarred hand down along her body. The scars were from various things: mistakes when chopping vegetables, accidentally cutting myself on glass when windows broke or vases fell, and that occasional curiosity I would feel why it made no difference when I slashed myself with the kitchen knife. It was strange to actually dwell on; my imperfect hand gliding over her rising and falling chest and below to reach her abdomen.

It was somewhere around here I thought as my hand stopped. If I was to be complete, I would need this from her. It angered me that she had something that she obviously did not use at all. My hand made a few mocking motions as if I were actually pulling her womb out by a pair of strings. Then I clapped my hand down on her stomach. My fingers curled and a part of her shirt was caught in my fist. I heard her gasp and suddenly jump upwards. I turned to look at her face and felt myself drawn to her lips again. I wanted to feel them against mine and yet, as I thought, I also felt repulsive as those lips had probably been used by so many men before. So I retreated from her and walked away, towards the view of the castle grounds. I could hear the springs in the bed creaking under the girl's weight as she shifted away from me.

How many times has a bed squeaked with the girl on it? How many men has she been on a bed with before as they used her and pounded away happily like a mindless dog? The whore must've surely been used to hearing creaking springs in rapid succession mixed with the heavy breathing of both parties. Maybe she'd even had more than one partner… imagine that. She would use her large breasts and soft, elegant tone to lure them into her house and then she would let them use her to their own need. After she would simply forget them and move on to the next man or the next group of men. And yet she wouldn't allow procreation? She was a worthless piece of filth, despicable in her every action.

The more I thought on it, the more I realized how disgusting the act of sex truly was. The man with his extension and the way it stood in the air as if expecting to be serviced. And the way he would grunt and groan as he had his way with the female body. Yet the Miss could put up with it for she was just as disgusting as the rest of them all. To have her womb would be a disgrace yet she was the only source I had. I suppose I would just have to make due.

"I am not complete," I warned her with the shadow of a grin on my face. Then I turned back to look at the window and found my reflection staring back at me. I could also see her, crawling to the end of the bed as she would've done once the man had finished with her. Yet my focus remained on me: I was supposed to be perfect in every way and yet I was incomplete. My vision blurred and I felt a slight distaste for myself rise in my throat. So I got rid of the reflection by slamming my head into the window. It would not go away so repeatedly beat my forehead against the cold glass until it began to crack, the web of shattering glass spreading out from the center of force. I continued this until finally my head broke free and was met with cool night air. There was no pain, no agony, no throbbing in my head. I was numb and if I never felt pain, how was I to be complete?

The only answer was to watch a real woman in pain. I would observe how she would move, react, and speak. If I could do this, if I could react to pain and pleasure then I would be the perfect woman. I just needed somebody to learn from. The answer stood behind me, cowering near the door. I smiled and glanced up at a particularly large shard of glass. My slender fingers wrapped around it and gave a few tugs before it broke off. In its reflection I could see the Miss and myself. My lips looked soft and inviting so I pressed them against the reflection, moaning quietly. It was cold and empty yet it was the only kiss I had ever experienced so I savored it. Then I turned to look at my teacher whose mouth was agape as she breathed quietly. She looked confused and scared and I approached her slowly, glass held tightly at my side.

Instinctively she began to step back from my advancing form, hand held to her chest. She bit her lower lip as if she were thinking on something before she yelled to the dog, who had been growling at me from beneath the bed. He suddenly ran towards me and leaped through the air, sinking his teeth into my hand. I laughed and began to tug my hand from him playfully and we played tug-of-war for a while before he released and went back to Fiona's side. The teeth marks were clearly visible on my white skin and I examined them, passing a finger over each tiny indent. There was, of course, no pain.

* * *

Fiona

Despite her eerie presence, she had been the only one in the castle I might've been able to speak to without fear of being harmed in some way. She had seemed so gentle when I first arrived and as I thought, I realized as unemotional as she was, the maid had certainly helped me. She had laid out my comfy clothes, made me dinner (no matter how disgusting it had tasted, the thought is what counted), and had guided me back through the graveyard to the dining room. While I wasn't too sure if I was supposed to be entirely grateful for her interruption of my hopeful escape, I was grateful that at least on the way back she hadn't hurt me. And her stunning beauty – it didn't match her personality at all, but if she had a normal smile and showed emotions of warmth then she would be a very charming woman. However, as I backed up against the door I felt as if I was watching a whole different woman.

The eerie, empty smile of hers had been replaced by a malicious grin. It made her otherwise perfect features become twisted and dark. The rough scraping of glass on cement filled my ears and I shivered involuntarily. There was such an evil look in her eyes that kept me glued to my spot; it filled me with absolute terror. It wasn't the look of the large man whom I fought in the cathedral, whose large eyes were filled with want. The maid's eyes were filled with something I couldn't quite figure out. There was no trace of hate or sorrow, nor the faintest hint of anger or obedience. They just seemed empty. Almost as if her very eyes had gone insane. She suddenly released a shrill laugh and threw her head back and the break of gaze seemed to shake me from my trance. I quickly turned and dashed for the door, nearly running head-on into the barrier. Hastily I threw it open and fled from the bedroom. I could Hewie growling near my heels as we sped down both flights of stairs leading to the dining room. The piercing laughter of a lunatic followed us.

I made sure Hewie was with me before I slammed the door shut and continued to run. The dinner was still laid out – I suppose I hadn't been asleep that long. The yellowish stew no longer produced steam but bubbles still rose to surface and popped occasionally. Again my stomach began to feel queasy but I ignored it and ran through the next door.

I tried to imagine what might've driven the maid to this point. I had always felt uneasy around her but before now she had been a passive figure in this strange place. I couldn't exactly say she was a motherly figure seeing as how unemotional and distant she kept herself but she certainly was no Riccardo, whose revelation had caused me to faint. The fact that he knew about the car crash was horrifying in its own way and how false his sympathy had sounded as I fell to the earth gave me the impression that he wasn't on my side. Yet, as I ran from my newest stalker, I thought perhaps Riccardo was the last of my hopes of escape. Perhaps if I spoke to him the right way or told him of my predicament though even as I thought of this I realized that the only one I could count on was Hewie.

After a moment to stop I found myself in the room where the maid had first grabbed my hand and caused me to drop the key. I had been following Hewie during my thoughts and I bent down to pet him appreciatively – he wagged his tail in response. Then I made my way to the intricately designed door, disregarding the pattern: I had already studied and been dumbfounded by it so I just shoved it out of my mind. A dull gleam caught my eye and I noticed that the key had not been moved since my last time here. I squatted down to pick it up and inserted it into the doorknob.

Chills ran down my spine as I imagined the maid's cold hand over mine once again, her body meshing against my back. I could still hear that soft whisper in my ear and the shiver that shot down my back as she breathed over my lips, her own dangerously close. I turned my head just to make sure she wasn't right behind me. And I nearly released a squeal when I discovered she was.

Her back was turned to me and she was bent slightly, her arm moving slowly as she dusted the railing. The long shard of glass leaned against the railing and gleamed dangerously in the moonlight. Hewie was growling at her but she paid him no mind, too focused on her work. Curiosity got the best of me; I tip-toed to her and stood by her side, making sure to block the deadly glass from her grasp. She felt my presence and spoke softly and in a monotonous voice.

"It's cleaning time, Miss." That was all that came from her lips as she dusted away a cobweb. It sounded almost as if she had been playing Hide-and-Seek with me and then decided her responsibilities took priority. Another chill ran through me as the confusing puzzle of a woman stood before me. A thought struck me however: if she was indeed too caught up in her duties, perhaps I could take her weapon and use it against her. I moved my arm behind me and felt blindly for the glass.

A jolt of pain ran through my fingers as I groped the side of the jagged glass roughly. I squealed and immediately pulled my hand away to inspect the damage. Trickles of crimson blood ran down my fingers and palm, the deep crimson color shimmering strangely in the light. I frowned and stuck the fingers into my mouth to suck off the blood one by one. First was my index, then my thumb, then my ring finger. The coppery taste of my blood caused me to twist my face in disgust. As I raised my pinky to my mouth I gasped in surprise as the maid suddenly gripped my wrist and pulled it towards her instead. She placed my tiny finger between her lips and suckled lightly. It had been so abrupt that I could not react and I simply watched in fear as she tasted my blood, almost seeming to enjoy it. She swirled her tongue around my entire pinky, careful not to push against my manicured nails. Her saliva rolled across my flesh and trailed from her lower lip as she slowly pulled my hand from her.

"It's cleaning time, Miss," she repeated to me. Then she gestured to a few drops of blood that had fallen to the wooden floor. I hesitated before drawing my hand from her grip. "Sorry," was all I could think to say before dashing to the closest door. I urged Hewie to follow me through before slamming it shut.

Perhaps she had a personality disorder? Or was it that her duties outweighed her need to kill me? I shook my head and began to make for the steps in front of me. Then I heard the door creak open and shut firmly. I stopped cold.

I didn't want to look. I was too frightened and after a moment of waiting I thought that maybe I had just been hearing things. Yet I started running when I heard it.

The sound of scraping glass mixed with maniacal laughter.


	3. Honey Taste

Hi all! I know I haven't been putting any Author's Notes into this story but I always try to show my appreciation for reviews (or in this case, review). So.. thanks! Hope you enjoy this next chapter.

* * *

The perpetual laughing frightened me. The hollow quality it possessed was one that struck panic into my heart because the laugh put images into my mind of what the maid would do to me after she caught me, all the while laughing. Yet I didn't think it was the emptiness alone that terrified me. No; the laugh itself was laced with something that didn't sound human at all. If what I was dealing with wasn't as human as I had thought her to be then I didn't know what she was. I think that is what scared me the most.

My hurried steps echoed off the walls as I raced up the stairs. I didn't want to die in a place I knew nothing about in the middle of nowhere. This castle seemed to be conveniently placed out of sight. Had it truly belonged to my parents? Why would they have such a grand estate and never tell me anything about it? I began to wonder if there was something here that had been hidden from the world.

I could hear the soft pads of Hewie's paws as he bounded alongside me, tongue hanging. At least I wasn't alone in this madhouse. So long as I had Hewie beside me, I knew I would be okay. His snow white fur was dark in the dimly lit corridor and his eyes gleamed in the light of the torches we passed. The dog's presence was the only real comfort I had since I arrived at this castle and even now, as I fled from a lunatic, I felt grateful that I had found and saved the dog.

As if by some thoughtless joke, Hewie suddenly ran in front of me and into the next room faster than my legs could take me. I cried out to the dog and attempted to catch up. I jumped over the next few stairs and I realized that my legs were numb with running. I had to keep going for I knew that if I stopped, the pain of exhaustion would shoot up my thighs and make it harder to escape the maid. Yet there was to be no relief for me today.

I yelped as my toe hit the edge of a stair hard and caused me to fall over. I hit the stone severely, my ribs being jabbed with a rough edge. The stone was chipped and created a small cut through my blouse and in my skin. For a moment I was dazed and felt my fragile body become weak. I whimpered and looked to where I had last seen my pursuer, but in my prone position I could not see anything beyond the first set of stairs. The laughing had stopped – maybe she had decided it was time to clean again? I prayed she had while I began to push myself up. My momentum had been lost and now my body started to feel as the exhaustion caught up. My legs and arms began to cramp and ache causing me to crash back onto the stairs. I hadn't felt it before but there was sweat rolling down my face and neck, drenching the collar of my blouse. I gasped for breath and attempted to push myself up once again, my thin arms shaking beneath my weight. It was futile: I collapsed back to the earth in a second, my cheek flat against the floor. I didn't hear the maid though, so perhaps I was safe.

A cold touch on my bare legs told me otherwise. I gasped and turned to look at the maid who was kneeling and grasping the back of my thighs. She was not staring at me but rather seemed focused on my rear. The cool touch was needed on my warm body but the chill was too ghostly and caused me to shiver. I tried crawling away but her grip was tight and I too weak at the moment.

"I want to see," she muttered as she parted my legs and leaned between them. I gasped as my skirt was lifted to reveal my white panties. My eyes were wide; had she come all this way to rape me? It was strange to think of one woman raping another, especially in these circumstances. How was she going to do it? All this time I had run from her thinking her intent was murder. I had never thought she had wanted to do this. It still didn't sit right with me and I wanted to get away but the fact that she wasn't going to kill me calmed me slightly. I could come out of this alive if I played my cards right and alive and violated was certainly better than dead.

Shivers ran through my spine as I felt a cold, long finger push against the thin cloth separating my womanhood and the maid's digit. I trembled but restrained from moving lest I anger her and then give her reason to kill me. It is a strange feeling to sit back and watch the moments leading up to your rape; not totally helpless but certainly not in a position of power. It was like watching a movie over again and getting to a tense part: you knew what was coming but it still made you sit on the edge of your seat, awaiting its sudden arrival. This was my feeling as she slid my panties to side and exposed myself to her. I quivered at the sudden chill that ran across my bare skin and the maid noticed for I saw a smirk crawl over her lips. Then she placed a finger in her mouth, sucking it as she had done mine a few minutes ago. When she pulled it out I could see the strings of saliva even in the dim light of the torches along the wall. The maid then parted me and slipped her finger inside.

The lubricated intrusion felt strange; the wetness from the maid's mouth was appreciated but the icy touch the digit left on my inner walls caused me to squirm. She gave me a grin before wiggling the tip of her finger against me. It was slightly uncomfortable but not unbearable. I watched her in fear and impatience: I was waiting for her to leave herself vulnerable so that I could deliver a few good kicks to her side. Maybe even grab her by the hair and slam her face against the stone stairs.

"Where is it?" she asked herself while dipping in another slender finger. A quiet whimper escaped my throat as I felt myself stretched slightly. The maid seemed to be searching for something I thought, as I felt her touch move deeper. The digits probed and massaged along the muscles and I lay there, watching her face as she stared at my womanhood. It was strange and embarrassing in a way to have someone feel around inside you yet almost completely ignore you at the same time while you're exposed to just about anybody who decides to show up where you are.

My thoughts were suddenly scrambled when her fingertips brushed against the barrier.

"No!" I cried and pulled myself away from her, trying to disengage her fingers. I could feel their ice cold sides tugging against my walls as I moved. Yet as I soon as I had tried to escape she grew a satisfied smile and gripped my thigh with her other hand even tighter than before, holding me in place. I let out a yelp of pain as her nails dug into my skin.

"I will be complete!" she said triumphantly before attempting to plunge her entire fist into me. I groaned in intense pain and blindly began kicking my free leg at her side, clipping her hip a few times with the heel of my boot. She had me in such a position that a straight shot was near impossible and I did the next best thing: leaned over and grabbed one of her curled pigtails and tugged it away from my aching slit. The maid just laughed that cold laugh of hers and ignored my attempts at freedom. She continued her attempts to fish her hand inside me, effectively punching my womanhood every time the shove of entrance failed. I tugged harder so that she couldn't see what she was doing but that only increased the pain as she began to simply grope for my womanhood. As tears of pain began to trickle from my eyes, the beating stopped.

* * *

Daniella

I was so close to it that I could smell the scent of the uterus emitting from the girl's sex. Inside it was warm and wet and it made my fingers feel secure. Men had certainly been blessed if this was their reward for courting a female. I wanted to be complete; I wanted to be that female that the men came to and adored because she was beautiful and useful. And I would give birth to child after child so that the men might actually receive something from their labor, not just an empty hole.

The girl attempted to stop me by pulling at my hair. I laughed because of the futility of it. I could feel neither pain nor pleasure so as Fiona tore my gaze from her womanhood I just continued trying to reach into her and remove her womb. I could feel her power wane and her grip loosened and I heard the sobs of her defeat. Finally I was to be whole and useful. I would be a real woman, a complete woman. I could finally be a wife.

I found myself staring into a set of eyes that seemed so familiar yet so distant. They were my own eyes and I examined the scene that I had created from another view. The girl leaning over herself, her pale hand still on my twisted pigtail and my hand pressed to her pubic area, two fingers dripping a clear liquid. I realized I was staring into a mirror. It was in a way exciting to see the girl in such a position but whenever I looked into my eyes I felt something in the back of my mind. The duties that I was supposed to perform and the responsibility I had been tasked with to watch over the girl. It was the maid who saw me and shook her head with such disapproval she almost seemed disgusted. She even spoke in my ear.

"How are you to be a perfect woman if you cannot even be a perfect man-made human?" I could not answer her and I felt myself under the eyes of thousands, all who were ashamed of what I was doing and how I had been such an incomplete thing even from the start. I opened my mouth to yell at them but all I produced was a scream, so shamed I was that I had to put my hands over my eyes to cover the imperfection before me.

I felt the girl's hand leave my hair and I heard as she scrambled up and away from me, slamming the door behind her. I didn't pursue her as I was supposed to be making her stay comfortable. I was failing in my duties and I shouldn't be as I was supposed to be perfect already. Perhaps I could gently kiss her and she would understand my apology. If I just held her softly and pressed my lips to her own, felt her soft and warm body pressed to me again. Maybe I could watch her writhe in pleasure. I smiled and pulled my hands away to reveal my image again. It was bearable.

I stood and began to make my way after her when I felt a wetness on my fingers. I pulled them up to my eyes and studied it for a moment before sticking them into my mouth. I sucked the honey taste from my flesh and released a soft moan. I now had another reason to chase the young lady.

Women did taste delicious.


End file.
